


Soldiers

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Secrets of the Red Room [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier was not who she thought he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldiers

By the time she was twelve, Natasha had the highest marks of any Natalia Romanova, as well as the highest marks in the entire Red Room. She was driven to master any task given to her, even if it was deemed impossible. Even worse, she made it look easy, as if no effort was involved in such mastery.

Some of the Olgas hated her on sight, Yelena looked up to her as if she hung the very moon, and one of the Minervas tried to poison her. By Red Room standards, it was pretty tame.

She had earned the right to train with the Winter Soldier, one of their best marksmen and hand to hand fighters. He was on loan to Department X from Hydra. Or was it the other way around? The two agencies often worked hand in glove, and it was hard to tell which was the origin agency and which was the shadow.

Whispers among the handlers said he was a soulless monster, and this was why he was called the American. Others said that he had defected from America to Russia, wanting to be part of the better, greater empire. But from what Natasha was able to see, the Russian empire, even the parts of it that had been subsumed under the Soviet Union, had fallen apart and was crumbling to pieces even as the people watched. The man had no expression, did what he was told, and tore targets to pieces if that was what was required. There was no job he didn't take, no target that could survive his crosshairs.

So when Natasha was given the impossible task to defeat him, she knew that there was no way she was going to be able to overcome him physically.

She would have to be fast. And clever. And _fast._

They were in an arena under the watchful eye of an array of handlers, not just Ivan. Circling him, wary, waiting, she watched how he moved. The metal arm moved fluidly, but it only carried the appearance of it. There were hundreds of interlocking plates and shifting parts that could be jammed or short circuited if she got in close enough to affect the arm. Given that she had been sent into the arena with only the clothes on her back and her empty fists, that was not an option to work with at present.

He wasn't going to make the first move. She would have to.

Natasha moved in close, almost a like a jeté. His eyes tracked her as she came in close, almost within arm's reach, then scuttled back. Another quarter circle, and she did it again. Then another quarter circle, another quick darting in and out. If there was any recognition in his eyes when he looked at her, she couldn't recognize it.

On the fourth iteration, she had his knife in her hand, her arm poised behind her back and blade tucked against her wrist. She wasn't sure if he had realized it, but she couldn't assume that he didn't know about it. She had to assume he was testing her, he was _letting her_ take the blade to see what she would do with it.

A fifth iteration, then a sixth. Was that irritation in his eyes? There was definitely irritation in most of the handlers' eyes. Ivan was waiting; he knew she was clever, he knew she probably had a plan in mind, even if he couldn't guess what it was.

By the seventh iteration, just before the Winter Soldier turned to face her head on, she shoved the blade between two plates in his exposed metal arm, just above the elbow. As she twisted out of his reach, she also twisted the blade, wrenching two plates apart and grinding the tip of the knife against some of the inner workings. She managed to keep the blade in hand as she darted away, which meant she could do it as often as she needed to until his arm was rendered useless. 

_"Stop!"_ one of the handlers ordered. Was it the Winter Soldier's handler? Did he even have a handler? Natasha had no idea.

"You are to fight the Solider," another handler said, anger in his tone.

"I am a girl not yet twelve," Natasha replied, sinking into a deep crouch, knife in hand. "I am not fully trained, not fully operational. To pit me against a seasoned soldier is tantamount to killing me, and I have no intention of dying. So I need to even the playing field before we fight."

"The girl speaks sense," Ivan said into the angry silence.

The first handler to speak glared at the Winter Soldier. "Do not use your metal arm!"

He nodded, the only indication that he had heard the order. Natasha didn't drop the knife she had appropriated, and moved in. This time she twisted at the waist, kicking up so that her heel crunched into his nose. Her hands on the ground, she pushed up into the kick, twisting to complete it as a somersault away from him. When he moved to approach, flesh hand clenched into a tight fist, Natasha spun around with the knife.

It was a vicious fight. She was horridly outmatched; he was taller, bulkier, stronger, more skilled in hand to hand. But she scored his arm and torso with the knife before it was knocked out of her grip, and she had knocked his head back with some kicks and punches. She was battered and bruised, aching and sore, but she had given as good as she got, and she was only twelve years old. As time progressed, she would be a force to be reckoned with.

"Enough," one of the handlers called out. "We have seen enough."

Because everything was a test. Nothing could be taken for granted here.

"Yes, she may train with him. I believe she is ready to pair off into the field," one of the handlers said. "She fights differently than her mother did, but I believe the two can still work well together on missions."

Though it might have seemed odd for her to take on missions in the Bashkir region, the Winter Soldier didn't remark on it. He said nothing when they arrived, waiting for their target to meet his contact in Volgograd. "My name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she told him quietly. It was as much to break the frigid silence between them as it was to get acquainted. "The name Alian is not very common, but it was my father's. The name is somewhat more common here, though I could not find any reference of my mother doing missions here."

To be more accurate, there were no indications of _any_ missions the prior Natalia would have done before Natasha was conceived. There were no records Ivan could find of anything from that period, as if they had simply been burned.

The Winter Soldier remained silent and still, looking through the crosshairs for a target that didn't seem to be coming after all.

"Or perhaps he was Tartar instead of Bashkir," she mused aloud. "She did not tell me much about Alian. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Perhaps no one needs to know of him."

"He sired me. This is all I know for certain."

"That is enough." His grip on the gun was tight, almost too tight, and there were strain lines around his mouth. The handlers had said he worked with Natalia. Did he remember her mother? Did he know who Alian had been?

"But she told me a few things about him, when she felt so bold. That he was determined and loyal, that he sought to save innocents."

"Lies to tell a child to make her feel better at night."

Natasha looked at him sharply. "You knew the former Natalia. You know she was no liar. Not about things like that."

He couldn't meet her eyes. Yes, he had known even as he said it. So why was he trying to confuse her about Alian's identity?

"Perhaps he was not Tartar or Bashkir. Perhaps he was something different. Arabic or Turkish descent. Perhaps I am part Muslim, and should learn of Allah."

"Your father was not Muslim," the Winter Solider replied firmly. "Pay attention to the goddamn mission before they box us both."

She remained silent, and they found the mark. Natasha killed him quickly and efficiently, earning a nod from the Winter Soldier.

"Perhaps it was not a name. Perhaps it was reference to a place. Shorthand."

"Why do you still speak of this?" he snarled.

"You knew her. You worked with my mother. You saw her in action. Had she any missions in Alexandrovsk-Sakhalinsky? Maybe that could be shortened to Alian. Or Belaya Kalitvan? Chekalin? Karabali? Kalingrad? Shali in Chechen could shorten nicely to Alian." Natasha could tell that the Winter Soldier was growing more and more agitated by this line of questioning, and though others might fear his temper, she did not.

She was hard pressed to say why, but she did not fear the Winter Soldier at all.

"Stop speaking of this."

"No."

_"Leave it alone."_

"No."

"On your life, _leave it alone."_

Natasha looked at him evenly. There was something in his eye, an uncomfortable truth she was surprised she was allowed to glean.

"Alian is you."

He was very still. "Natalia..."

"You have no name. So she gave you one, one they would never suspect, never look for. Because what kind of name is Alian? What kind of heritage would it give me? And if I was born with dark hair and dark eyes, then it could be explained that I have Bashkir heritage. But I was born looking just like her, just like my grandmother."

The Winter Soldier just looked at her, not saying anything for a long time. "And what will you do with these thoughts, Natalia?"

"Keep them with my other secrets," she told him boldly.

He laughed. He _laughed._ But he was no longer angry, so there was that.

"She raised me," Natasha told him quietly. "She was allowed to stay in the arcade, and she taught me what I needed to know of secrets. Of how to see them, how to find them, how to keep them. I know what to do to keep my secrets."

"That one involves more than just you."

Because he would likely be punished severely. It was hard to punish a dead woman, especially if they had no body to mutilate. But they had the Winter Soldier, they had Natasha. Natasha could not help the circumstances of her birth, and she was a star pupil. But they could indeed punish the Winter Soldier for the transgression, for daring to love the Natalia and father a child.

She reached out and touched his arm. "You loved her. And she loved you. She protected you, me, all of us, the only way she knew how. She never told them once about you."

"I know. We agreed that was the way to do it. We agreed we had to keep you safe."

Natasha was an assassin. How was that keeping her safe?

"We fight for what we must," the Winter Soldier told her, touching her hand with his flesh one. It felt comforting and real. "We are soldiers."

"Tell me about her? About what you saw in her."

Part of her ached so badly. Two years dead, and Natalia's ghost still haunted the arcade. She could barely remember the strains of lullabies sung to her at night, the lilt of her voice or the soft, pleased smiles she had. The pictures didn't do her justice, and Natasha could never get her mouth to form the same kind of smiles. She was something harder edged, prickly. Something different and strange, something that the Red Room made.

The Winter Soldier's lips twitched in amusement, and Natasha wondered what kind of man he had been before Department X had hollowed him out and turned him into a weapon. "Some things are not for children to hear."

 _Love is for children,_ Natalia had said. Natasha could hear her voice so clearly as she said that, and she sounded just like her mother.

"Tell me what you could tell a child." She didn't need to hear sordid stories. She needed to hear of a time when her mother was _alive,_ when she was more than simply the Natalia, when she was loved, when she was a woman and not just an assassin.

In between missions, in a string of anonymous hotel rooms, they told bad jokes and watched news reports together and danced in the rain when no one was looking. They whispered in the dark and made plans to escape together before the Red Room could match her to someone of their choosing, before they could further put their handprints on her fate. But he had been wiped clean soon before meeting her, he had no contacts that they didn't know about, no means to hide himself or her. She could likely do it, but neither were Outside long enough to ensure that they could be safe in the long term.

And then in spite of being careful to prevent it, she was pregnant, and the few contacts he was able to make by then were not enough. The papers he pulled together for Natalia never were used, were still waiting.

"I ruined your plans."

"No." He shook his head, and there was something fierce in his eyes. "No. You simply delayed them for a while."

"But she's no longer here."

"You are. You are still Natalia, and you look just like her."

Papers for Natalia, waiting, still waiting, ready for her use. All she had to do was take them and disappear into the Outside.

"And you?"

"The escape plan had been for her first. I would have to make my way after."

Something in her gut tightened at the words. He would never make it out of Department X alive, surely they had to know that. Surely he realized it, and they deemed it an acceptable sacrifice; if one got out, perhaps the other could in time.

There were tears in Natasha's eyes in spite of herself, and she turned away so he wouldn't see them. But he knew they were there. His metal hand rested heavily on her shoulder. "Everything is still in place. If you want them to be."

She turned and looked at him, feeling as though she was the one that was scraped out, hollow and raw and empty, waiting to be filled in with a mission. "They will hurt you if they find out, and they will punish you. Erase you. You won't remember us."

"I am likely due to be wiped again soon. They don't like leaving me alert for too many years in a row. When I remember too much, I get... _bucky."_ Something sour was in his voice, a horrid resentment and realization. He knew he was a weapon, nothing more. He knew he wasn't to have a personality, a life, a family.

Yet he loved Natalia anyway. In his own way, he loved Natasha, too.

"Well, we would need to hide your involvement. Hide who you are," she mused aloud. "If I say I'm trying to get into your bed," she teased.

He blanched and barked out "No!" immediately.

"It would be a lie. We would know it as a lie," she reassured him. "They are all bound up in themselves, they would never see past it."

"I would not harm a child. I wouldn't even want to suggest it," he said tightly.

Natasha touched his arm gently. "Then how else can I help you?" she asked. "I don't know what else I could say to help hide you." She sat down heavily in front of him. "I'm twelve. My options are very limited."

He sat down across from her. "As are mine."

"Could you escape?"

"They would never let me. I am too highly prized an asset."

"As am I. I'm the star pupil in my age group." She didn't bother to hide the pride in her voice. That kind of thing might matter to him. Didn't fathers like to know about the accomplishments of their children?

But it made him sad to hear. "You should be playin' with dolls or something'," he murmured, the trace of a slang accent to his words.

Natasha was fascinated. Was the programming breaking down? Were pieces of his former personality breaking through, then? If so, they would wipe him clean soon, and he would forget about his love for Natalia, he would forget about her.

She would have to move fast, then. She had to escape _now._

"Then help me escape," she murmured softly. "It's what she wants, but I wouldn't know how to stay away for long on my own."

He scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. "I need a little time to put it in place."

"You'll need to pretend to be empty."

Her father—the Winter Soldier—nodded in agreement. "I can't let them empty me out. Not before you get a chance to run free."

But if he was wiped clean after that, he would never be able to get out of Department X.

"How much time do you need?" she asked quietly. There would be classes in the meantime, things she could learn that would be useful. _Learn everything they have to teach you,_ her mother had told her. Because it was true, because it was necessary.

"I don't know. But you are very good at what you do, and they will continue to send you out into the field. I'll see you again." The Winter Soldier paused. "In time, you may not even need my assistance any longer."

"Protection?"

"Not even for that."

She was proud, of course, but also sad. What would her life be like if she was truly alone?

"Soldiers don't wage war alone," she offered.

"Some do. Elite soldiers do. A special team. Commandoes."

They stared at each other, uncertain. "We must move quickly," Natasha whispered. "And where would I even go? What would I do? This is all I know."

The Winter Soldier shook his head, unable to give her this kind of answer. "Go where they least expect. Do the very thing they wouldn't expect of you."

All she knew was how to kill. She had a very specific skill set, one that had been honed to a razor's edge already. All she had to do was learn to survive on her own Outside, and that was really only a matter of time, determination and opportunity.

"Then I'll be a soldier like my daddy," she said quietly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, and he held her tightly for a moment. Could their lives have been like this? Could he have been able to hold her, rock her at night, tell her bedtime stories and how to see the lies in the dark?

Probably not.

But for now, they could cling to the illusion that it was possible.

The End


End file.
